


Displaced Genius

by auberus, Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Category: Highlander: The Series, Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Gen, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auberus/pseuds/auberus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: Tony accidentally displaces himself into an entirely different universe where he doesn't exist. He promises Methos an AI in exchange for the resources to figure out how to get himself home.





	Displaced Genius

As ideas went, this wasn't the worst one he's had, though he is glad he'd managed to talk Pepper into not quiting as CEO. It means that she's not going to be dealing with it suddenly being dropped in her lap again with him missing. Missing, without a clue where he actually is, and without his suit. Though that's because he was working in his shop rather than out dealing with problems, and he hadn't thought he'd actually need it with this experiment.

"That's the last time I try making fun new fancy weapons for Rhodey," he says, mostly to himself, since he hasn't seen anyone else in this forsaken piece of nowhere. At least it's not a desert nowhere, though he's not entirely certain he's not in Russia. He could be in Russia, for all he knows, though it's still the middle of nowhere. "At least I don't have to worry about burning out the reactor core, which is really good, since I don't know where I am, or how I'm going to get home. Not yet, anyway."

Tony's utterly convinced, of course, that he will figure out how to get home. It's just a matter of figuring out exactly where the failure was in the experiment, and how to fix it, and reverse the effects.

"If, of course, I'm not just hallucinating all this while lying unconscious in my workshop. Though you'd think I'd hallucinate someplace a little more tropical and with a few more babes. Or Pepper. In a bikini?" He glances around, not really expecting the surroundings to change. This whole thing feels just a bit too real to be a hallucination. "No, didn't think so."

He runs a hand through his hair, turning in a circle. The only thing that might be at all useful is that he's standing in a small crater, as if something exploaded here, possibly the experiment causing a little more havoc than he intended, at least at this stage of testing. Maybe someone had seen it, if he wasn't actually as lost as he thinks, and they'll come find him. Or he'll have to figure out how to get back to civilization on his own, and make his way home from there.

"Five more minutes for someone to come find me, and then I go find people. Civilization, hamburgers, pretty women, Pepper." He snorts, and grins a little. "Rhodey better like this thing when I'm done with it."

* * *

Methos lets out a string of furious curses and slams the hood of his Volvo, then kicks the fender for good measure. 

"It's a brand new battery!" He's half-shouting, and entirely frustrated. "Horses **died** on you; they didn't develop *glitches*!" He kicks the car again, glad that there's no one around to see him indulging in a fit of irritation. He has every reason to be annoyed, since he's miles from the nearest service station, and this isn't a terribly busy road. There's also no way to call for help, since his cell phone has been a Quickening casualty for the past week. It's not that he can't walk into town -- or that he hasn't walked further -- it's that he objects to doing so while there are better means of transport to be had.

The shouting he can hear through the trees makes Tony perk up, smiling to himself for a brief second. At least he doesn't have to look too far to find civilization. And it sounds like he's not in Russia, either, if the language and accent are worth anything. It could always be a British tourist lost on some back road, and nevermind where. If he's really lucky, it's a British tourist on a back road in the US.

Heading in the direction of the shouting, he wipes his hands on his pants, hoping to get most of the soot and soil off them. Even if he's probably going to get grease on them in looking at the tourist's engine - it'll make getting a ride into the nearest town easier if the car works. It doesn't take too long before he spots the road, the broken-down car, and the man next to it.

"I heard you shouting, you wouldn't happen to know where I've managed to get myself, would you?" he asks as soon as he's within easy conversational range. "I promise, I don't do this very often. Walk out of random woods and ask strangers where I am, that is." Or try to blow himself up, either, but he's not exactly willing to share that information right now.

"You're in the middle of bloody nowhere." Methos gives his car a sour look. "And since the sodding car won't work, you appear to be stuck here, unless you enjoy walking." Taking a deep breath, he pushes aside his irritation. "Sorry. You're about fifty miles from Seacouver. Which is that way." He gestures vaguely in the right direction, and heads around the car to the boot. There are some things in there he'd prefer not to leave to the highway patrol.

"I already knew I was in the middle of nowhere. All the trees gave it away. Never heard of Seacouver." Tony shrugs, stepping onto the pavement. "What's wrong with the car?"

He's actually a bit surprised not to be recognized, but maybe that's because he's not in his armor. Some people probably don't know his face well enough to recognize him even if they'd know the armor.

"It's the battery. Which I just replaced." Methos is beginning to think that the Volvo has been close to one Quickening too many, and may have to be replaced. "I'd call AAA, but my cell phone's had it as well."

Tony thinks he could probably jump the engine, if he had something to actually attach the reactor in his chest in a way that won't blow the thing out. And he'd have a phone if his hadn't been on his workbench when he blew the experiment. He really doesn't like thinking that, and he has no intention of ever admitting to anyone that he screwed up an experiment that bad.

"I might be able to do something to get the engine running, if you have some jumper cables or copper wire in there somewhere." He has to at least try, though he really thinks that if the car is going to just kill new batteries, it's about time to replace it. Cars shouldn't do that.

"Oh, I have jumper cables," Methos tells him dryly. "Unfortunately, they tend to need a power source, and we're sadly lacking in that department." He shoves his spare coat out of the way and liberates the cables from the clutter in the boot. "Here. For all the bloody good it will do."

"More good than you think." Tony grins and shrugs, taking the cables, and going to pop the hood. He might as well look at the rest of the engine while he's converting the jumper cables. Starting with taking off the one set of clamps. "You wouldn't happen to have some wire-cuttters, or something else that will do the trick, would you?"

He doesn't even actually look up from his quick inspection of the engine. There's nothing immediately obvious, other than some random spots of soot, but he's not really thinking those have anything to do with whatever engine problems the man's having.

"I don't carry a workshop about in my car," Methos points out. "What do you want cut?" He's not about to hand over any of his knives to a random stranger. They're antiques, they're razor sharp, and knowing his luck, the man would probably slice open an artery, leaving Methos stuck with a body to dispose of.

"I only need one set of clamps on the jumper cables. And I can't find out what you have without asking. I could always take the clamps off the hard way, but that takes time, and I really don't want to take that much time." Tony starts looking closer at the engine, trying to see what could possibly be draining a battery as quickly as it sounded like the man's battery was drained. "When you said you just replaced it, you mean like last week?"

"A week and a half ago." Methos reclaims his jumper cables and pulls out the smallest of his knives. He really should start carrying a pocket knife. Cutting through jumper cables is going to ruin the edge of the blade -- and his daggers really are a bit conspicuous these days, even if they're not spotted for the valuable antiques they are. If he weren't stranded in the middle of the woods, he wouldn't have admitted to carrying them in the first place.

Cutting through the cables isn't easy, but Methos manages to do it without slicing himself up in the process. He hands them back to his would-be-mechanic, eyebrow raised.

Tony's shed his shirt while he's been waiting for the cables, already laying out what he needs to do to make the connections work in his mind, though it's not going to be the best fix. It should do the trick, however, and that's all he needs it to do. That, and the car should probably go into a mechanic and have the entire engine pulled out and really looked at, though that assessment's as much instinct as anything else.

"Should be just a moment, once I get things hooked up. You might want to be ready to try starting the engine." He seperates the wires, muttering to himself a moment while he twists some of the wires together into contacts for the reactor. "I'll hook it to your engine first, make sure I'm not going to blow it up by accident. Probably won't need more than a couple connections."

Methos eyes him -- and the car -- warily. He's fairly sanguine about most kinds of physical damage, but explosions have a nasty way of separating parts of one's body from the rest of it. "You do know what you're doing, I hope? I don't think the insurance covers mechanic-induced explosions."

"Of course I know what I'm doing. I built one of these when I was six." Tony means the engine, not the reactor in his chest - and that it's not getting a reaction is more than a surprise - but he's not going to quibble about what the man thinks he's talking about. "It won't blow up, I promise. Since I'm not going to do something that would make it blow up."

Except give it some power from his reactor, and if he doesn't limit the feed, he's not really sure it won't blow up. Even if the math says it should be fine, if the engine's eating batteries, the variables are a little fuzzy.

Methos shoots an irritable glance his way, then stops, blinks, and looks again, irritation forgotten.

"What the hell is that?" It's not very diplomatic, perhaps, but for a moment, he'd half-thought it was Rebecca's damned stone.

"Miniaturized arc reactor." Tony shrugs, though a frown crosses his face a moment. "Though this isn't a model Stark Industries is selling yet, hasn't exactly been fully tested yet." He attaches the clamps to the engine before carefully picking up one of the contacts, though this is the part he knows is dangerous to him. Being electrocuted, though, isn't exactly high up on his list of things that could kill him. Just annoying, and probably painful.

"Give it a moment, and see if you can't start the engine, will you? I really do not want to walk out of nowhere again." Though at least here, there are trees, and it's not too warm.

"I'm sorry -- a miniaturized what?" It has to be technology if it's going to jump-start the car, but it doesn't look like any technology Methos has ever seen. He should probably go start the car, but one doesn't get to count one's age in millenia through carelessness, and he's not getting any closer to that thing until he knows what it is, not with the memory of the Methusalah Stone still tugging at him.

"Arc reactor." Tony looks up at the man with a frown, wondering just what rock he's been hiding under that he doesn't know what an arc reactor is. "Stark Industries had a large prototype version running the factory until it got blown up to take out a rather large suit of armor whose owner was trying to kill me." It's as far as he's willing to even think about that night, much less mention to other people. "Perfectly safe unless you deliberately overload it, and this one's safer than that. More advanced model, even if you ignore the miniaturization."

If it weren't for the -- arc reactor -- glowing merrily away, Methos would assume that he'd simply encountered a madman. He still isn't entirely sure that he hasn't. 

"How long have you been out in the sun?" He has some water in the car, but not enough, should the man have heatstroke.

"Not long, why?" Only since he landed in the middle of the damned crater his experiment had created. Tony shifts impatiently on his feet. "And would you start the damned car?"

"Because you seem a little confused." Telling someone they're acting crazy never works out well. "If you've got heatstroke, the bloody car can wait until we find some water." He's really in no mood to deal with a medical emergency at the moment.

"I'm not confused. Confused about what?" Tony knows that's not going to help the impression, but he doesn't care. "And I'm fine. I was in my workshop until about fifteen minutes ago. I'd like to get back to where there's a working phone, and call my assistant, and arrange a flight home, so if you would start the car, really."

Methos rolls his eyes. "I'm not taking instructions in engine maintenance from someone who has heatstroke, and since the only thing you've said in the past few minutes that makes any sense is your desire to find a working phone..."

"Fine. Give me the keys, I'll start the car." Tony would just start walking if he weren't certain he can get the car working again, and a fifty mile trip is going to take a lot less time once the car's working. "And for the record, I don't have heatstroke, though I might have a hangover before the day's over. And I don't know what rock you've been living under that none of what I've said makes sense to you, but anyone who actually pays any attention to the news knows about Stark Industries and the arc reactor. And maybe you don't recognize me because I'm not in my armor, but even you have got to have heard of Iron Man."

"Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell. I've never heard of Stark Industries, Iron Man, arc reactors, or suits of armour that require explosions to get through. Crossbow bolts, yes. Explosions, no." Brilliant. The man who'd seemed to be a competent mechanic is apparently as looney-tunes as Caspian, albeit in a different (and much less unpleasant) fashion. "As for recognizing you -- who, exactly, are you supposed to be? Because Napoleon was shorter."

"You've never heard of Iron Man," Tony says flatly, staring at him. "Crazy people in Siberia have heard of Iron Man, and you haven't, this is just surreal. I mean, how do you manage to avoid ever hearing about Iron Man? And who am I? Really? Tony Stark. Iron Man. And I'm not crazy, by the way, just really confused how you managed to hide under a rock for the last three months."

He pauses, glancing at the car a moment before unhooking the contact from his reactor. "And anyway, explosions don't actually get through the armor. They're just really annoying, and I usually need to have Jarvis repaint it when I get home."

Methos resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"I'd ask what I did to deserve this, but I think I already know." Somewhere, MacLeod is smiling, and isn't sure why. "For the past three months, I have been in Paris. It's not the hub of civilization that it once was, but it's not the ends of the earth, either, and I assure you that I pay very close attention to current events. I've never heard of you, or Iron Man, or anything else you've mentioned."

"Not possible." Tony is absolutely certain that it must be impossible, because he's been to Paris. He's been in the tabloids in Paris, been stalked by papparazzi in Paris. Not since he became Iron Man, but he's sure he's been in French newspapers, and other international newspapers since then. There is a possibility that he's not only hundreds of miles from home, but possibly displaced in time or universe. Or both.

"What year is it? It should be 2009, last I checked, but I don't know if I managed to displace myself in time as well as space. Or worse, but that's going to make me sound even crazier than I already do, so I think I'll pass on bringing that theory up, even though it's a perfectly viable theory."

"It's 2007." Methos folds his arms and looks Stark over. He doesn't seem crazy, and the arc reactor in his chest certainly isn't anything Methos has seen before, or even heard of. For the moment, at least, he's willing to suspend disbelief. "Should I still know who you are?"

"Tony Stark, playboy quadrillionare, CEO of Stark Industries, the largest and most innovative weapons manufacturer in the world." Grimacing a bit, Tony is glad he's left that part of him mostly behind. The weapons manufacturing, at least, and even to some extent the whole CEO thing. It meant he had more time to work on more interesting projects. Including the current CEO. "That's if I haven't managed the whole something worse, and tell me you've at least heard of me. Because if you haven't, I don't know how to get home, not yet, but it's going to take a bit more than a plane ride."

"Sorry." Methos shrugs. "Doesn't ring a bell." This is at least a diversion from being stuck on the side of the road. Lifting an eyebrow, he continues, "Assuming you're not heat-stroked, or an escapee from a local mental asylum, I'd say you're a bloody long way from home."

"A long way from home, and with no one at home who can figure out where I am this time." It looks like he's going to be rescuing himself again, though Tony's not as constrained this time, at least not by people watching his every move, and demanding he build them a weapon. Just by a lack of resources and technology, and worse, a lack of knowledge. He runs a hand through his hair. "Which means figuring out how to get home from here. Not impossible."

Difficult, perhaps, and he's not sure if... whatever his name is. He's not sure he's going to be all that useful, though at least he could rapidly strip a set of jumper cables of the useless set of clamps.

"You know, I still don't have your name, and you haven't tried to start the car yet. I can hook the arc reactor back up if I need to, but it should start up if the battery's the only problem."

"Adam Pierson." Methos gives Stark one last, assessing look, then shrugs. "What the hell. It can't get any more broken down than it already is. God knows I'm not in any position to throw stones at improbable stories." Opening the door, he slides into the driver's seat and turns the key. To his surprise, it starts up almost immediately.

Tony grins, grabbing his shirt to pull back on before unhooking the rest of the jumper cables, and closing the hood. "Never underestimate a technological genius. Even managed to keep my own technology from killing me while it was keeping me alive." With some help, but still. He'll count that one as a victory. "You want the jumper cables in the trunk, or are you just going to toss them when we get back to civilization?"

What he's going to do when he gets back to civilization, he's not sure yet, other than find some way to get his hands on what he needs to build... well, anything. He doesn't even have all the tools he'll need, though they're at least easier to come by than some of the other things he needs.

"I doubt they'll do me much good now," Methos says dryly. "Throw them in the back seat." Once Stark is in the car, he puts it into gear and pulls out onto the road. He doesn't bother with the seatbelt, largely because he'd rather be thrown from the car than trapped inside of it.

"You should wear a seatbelt, you know." It's a token nod to safety, though Tony does make sure his own seatbelt is fastened. He's not nearly as indestructable without his suit as he is with it, and he'd like to make it back to civilization intact, even if the car dies at speed. "Going to this Seacouver? I've never heard of a city by that name in Washington, not at home."

Methos shrugs off the seatbelt suggestion. Being cut out of a car by the paramedics would probably lead to some seriously awkward questions. "It's not a bad place to live." Unless you're Immortal, and trying to avoid challenges. Fortunately, MacLeod is in Paris at the moment. "If you don't mind the miserable weather, anyway. If there's somewhere else you need to go..." He trails off. Stark is either crazy or from some sort of parallel universe; in either case, he's not likely to have anywhere to go, or any way to get there. Mentally consigning Duncan MacLeod to a number of unpleasant fates, Methos sighs. "What are you planning on doing after we get there?"

"I need to get some tools, and some materials - and a few servers would be a good start on computing power - and figure out how to get home. Simple." Except for the lack of money or knowledge of this universe. "I'm going to need some help, an assistant, and probably connections that I don't have here, preferably someone with enough money to throw at a problem."

That, or he's going to be here a lot longer than he likes to think about, and he's going to have to actually find a job. Or build a Stark Industries here from scratch. Without the history of weapons manufacturing that the one at home had to contend with.

"Money's...actually not an issue," Methos says after a long moment. He's got plenty, even if getting to some of it will take some doing, and he's spent fortunes for worse reasons than his own entertainment more than once. "I'm not a quadrillionaire, but I'm not hurting for cash, either, despite appearances."

Tony raises an eyebrow, curious, though not enough to actually ask. He's sure there are wealthy people at home who don't live like it. Though he's not sure he sees the point of it, since you can't take it with you in the end. "That'll be useful to start from. I can build most of what I need out of scrap, but it'll work better if I have new parts to repurpose."

And maybe, if he has to take extra time, he'll even build Adam a version of Jarvis to remind him of the adventure. Or simply because he can, and it's useful to have at least some version of his AI to assist him. Better than building a version of Dummy, or one of the other robotic arms he used around the shop.

"What were you trying to do, anyway?" Methos is a little curious as to how one goes about hopping dimensions, or worlds, or whatever it is Stark's done to himself. "I mean -- you weren't trying to blast yourself into another dimension, were you?" Science fiction has always been one of Methos' favourite genres. Jules Verne was the most accurate in his predictions, but Heinlein's always been his favourite.

"Nope." Tony frowns a moment before he gives a mental shrug. It's not like Adam can tell his competitors anything he tells him. "I was trying to build an upgraded repulsor for the suit I gave to Rhodey. It blew up in my face, I don't know why. The math was right, and I built it to spec. The test went really wrong, and apparently blew a crater in the woods off the road here."

"Suit? Would this be the suit of armour that can withstand explosions?" Methos lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "Anything that sturdy would be too heavy to stand up in." Regular armour was bad enough that he'd forgone wearing it save for appearance's sake after one attempt.

"That's why it's powered. Runs off the arc reactor, and I don't just stand up in it. I can fly in it. And it's lighter than it looks, though it's still a lot of work to move around in it if the power is cut." He hates that sensation, at least while he's on the ground. "I could build one while I'm here, but I don't know that there's a point, unless I have to wait to time getting home, and that's really not going to be fun." A frown crosses his face, and he mentally runs some calculations, though he's missing some variables, and he's not entirely certain he can replace all of the missing ones yet. "I need to build my AI again, anyway, and some equipment that can get some information about the crater and area around it where I ended up."

"An AI and a suit that can fly." Methos grins. "I definitely vote for building both." Airplanes are one thing -- the idea of independent flight is another. "And that I get a go in the suit. Somewhere isolated." He'd rather not attract official attention.

Tony hesitates, glancing over at Adam a moment. "I'll need to build another arc reactor, this one stays where it is. You'll need to get your hands on palladium." Because he's not about to share the one in his chest, not with anyone, not yet. Not when he doesn't really know Adam, and doesn't know how much he can trust him with this sort of technology, or power. Though if he's trusting him with a suit, he probably shouldn't worry so much about the arc reactor. Well, at least the palladium-cored arc reactor.

"Hmm." That might be a bit of a challenge, but then again, Amanda owes him a favour. "I think I can probably manage that. You'll have to take the suit home with you when you go, though. I can't afford to get caught flying around in it." Still, trying it once or twice will be an experience well worth any expense.

And he'll have one more suit in his workshop for him to play with. It's a situation that suits Tony just fine. He'll take the arc reactor he builds to let Adam fly the suit with him, as well, though it's not going to really be all that useful to him. Well, maybe. He'll make that decision when he has to pack up to go home. "I'll leave you the Jarvis AI when I leave."

There's not much else he can say at the moment, and Tony lapses into silence, his mind swirling with equations, ideas, and random images - and dreams - of Pepper for the rest of the trip.

* * *

"You're late," Joe says as Methos pushes the door open. "Where have you been, Old Man?" Then he stops, because Methos isn't alone. Instead, he's accompanied by a man whose clearly expensive haircut conflicts with the fact that he looks like a mechanic who's had a very bad day. "Who's your friend, Adam?"

The smirk Methos is wearing as he saunters up to the bar is enough to rouse Joe's suspicions, and the tone of his voice confirms them. 

"Joe, this is Tony Stark. Apparently, he's a quadrillionaire playboy industrialist from another dimension. He followed me home -- can I keep him?"

"This is one of those vomitorium things again, isn't it?" Joe asks suspiciously.

"Every word of that story was gospel truth," Methos protests, but the gleam in his eyes says he's lying, and not bothering to hide the fact. "Tony, this is Joe Dawson, bartender and bluesman. How about a beer, Joe?"

"You forgot genius with technology there, Adam." Tony sits on one of the barstools, grinning at Joe a moment. "His car broke down right where I landed. Never heard of a car draining a battery in a week and a half, unless you leave the lights on all night." At the mention of beer, he pauses, and his grin widens a moment. "And a whiskey, a good scotch, actually. On his tab."

Since he doesn't have the money to afford his own drinks, anyway. Or he would pay for his, he's not willing to stiff a working man like Joe. "And do I want to know about what the vomitorium story was?"

"His tab's already into the quadruple digits," Joe grumbles, but pours the drinks anyway. "And no, you don't. I'm still sorry he told *me*." He eyes the pair of them, clearly skeptical. Methos blinks innocently at him. 

"Don't do that. It's disturbing." Looking at Tony, he shakes his head. "All right. How much did he pay you to come in here and tell this fairy tale?"

"Hasn't paid me anything. I promised to build him an AI." Tony shrugs, taking the whiskey, and taking a careful sip before knocking back half of it like he's drinking water. "Though he's paying for the servers to host it on. And the rest of the material I need to build the equipment that will let me get home."

He took another sip of the whiskey. "Also, it's not a fairy tale, I'm not insane, and I don't have heatstroke, either."

"He was convincing," Methos shrugs, when Joe turns to him. 

"You're really buying this?" Joe can't quite believe it.

"It's not the strangest thing we've ever seen. Besides, he's got proof of a sort -- show him the arc reactor, Tony."

"Not a circus act, either." Tony doesn't actually mind showing the arc reactor off, but the flash of mock-annoyance is all part of being who he is. He sets his whiskey down, pulling up the shirt to show off what would have been just a barely-visible glow before. The bright light of the arc reactor washed out Joe's face a bit for a moment before Tony let his shirt back down. "That's what jump started his car. Keeps me alive, powers my suit. Which is, at the moment, at home, and a little difficult to show off. I'll show off the one I make here later, though. It flies. And looks really cool."

"Don't worry about Joe. He's a fan of the unusual." Methos empties his beer and looks mournfully at the empty glass.

"I'm a masochist," Joe retorts. "Let me guess, you want another one?" Refilling Methos' glass, he looks over at Tony. "You ready for a refill?" He's still not sure he believes the two of them, arc reactor or not. Methos' sense of humour is as quirky as five thousand years could make it, and he has all kinds of time on his hands.

"Please." Tony could probably do with one of his shakes too, but they're like the suits, at home. "Unusual, like someone who's probably old enough to be my father calling you 'Old Man'?" He's not unobservant, and that had given him the perfect opportunity to bring up what he'd heard Joe call Adam when they walked in.

"I'm not that old!" Joe says indignantly. "And you -- stop snickering or all you'll ever get from me is Budweiser." Methos sobers up with gratifying speed.

"It's a private joke," he explains. "Joe likes to say that I've been middle-aged for years now."

Tony looks skeptical a moment, but shrugs, letting it go for now. He has other concerns to take up his time, anyway. Like figuring out how he's going to get himself home, and building an AI and another Iron Man suit. "Whatever. You wouldn't happen to have some paper and a pencil I could use?" It wouldn't be the first time he's worked on paper, and it should at least allow him to get some of what's going through his mind down. Plans and equations and drafts.

"Yeah, here." Joe fishes out a notepad and a pen from behind the bar. 

"Drawing up plans?" Methos asks. It's been a while since he was on the cutting edge of science, but he can't resist the idea of technology from another dimension. "How do you know it will even work here? Maybe the laws of physics aren't exactly the same."

"Because I'm still alive." Tony shrugs, starting to sketch numbers and lines and symbols down, the outline of part of the suit taking shape in one corner of the page. "If the laws of physics were enough different to make the suit not work, they'd shut down the arc reactor as well, and I'd be dead instead of trying to get home. Even if there are subtle differences, they're not going to be enough to make a difference, except possibly in the energy levels needed. And not enough to be a real concern."

Of that much, he's fairly certain, though if there are differences, that could help him calibrate things to get him back home. And would alter his variables in the equations to make that work.

"Good point." Methos is clearly fascinated. Joe doesn't know enough math to understand the equations, but the suit looks pretty neat. 

"I built weapons once," Methos says unexpectedly. "A while ago." Joe perks up his ears, trying to look like he's not listening, only to receive an amused look from Methos for his pains. "I can almost see what you're getting at, I think. Here, and here?" He taps two places on the paper, neither of which mean anything to Joe.

"Mm-hmm." Tony takes the first page off the pad, starting on a more detailed sketch of one of the gauntlets for the suit, complete with repulsor. "Most of the power output balance actually is handled by the AI, and the controls practically read your mind. Takes a bit of time to get them calibrated properly. Worth the chance to fly in the end." Even if the original began in a cave, disguised as parts of a weapon he had no intention of building.

"I'm sure." Methos props his chin up on one hand and takes a sip of beer with the other. "What sort of metal did you use for the suit itself?"

"Originally? Steel. Titanium for the Mark II, and a titanium-gold alloy for the Mark III through Mark V. Pure titanium had an icing problem at higher altitudes, and shorted out the suit. I really don't like falling." Tony added another detail to the gauntlet sketch, and a note in neat, small letters. "It does have its weaknesses, though they usually involve insane physicists from Russia with a personal vendetta and some really nasty powered whips."

Methos laughs in sheer delight. "I think I've finally found someone whose life is more bizzare than my own. Are you sure you want to go back? I haven't been this entertained in a long time. Which reminds me -- Joe, where's Amanda?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not your address book?" Joe doesn't bother to look up from the glass he's polishing.

"It's for Tony!" Methos protests, and Joe sighs. 

"Turkey. I can probably get you her phone number."

"You're a prince," Methos assures him.

Tony raises an eyebrow, before shrugging and keeping his focus on the schematics. "I need enough palladium to make a reactor core one inch by three, and four milimeters thick. Actually, enough to make two or three would probably be better." He could, if he build what he needed to, make a core of the same element he has powering the arc reactor in his chest, but it would be easier to get someone to bring him palladium. Certainly he doesn't want to slice up someone else's basement at the moment. Or wreck the walls in making the accelerator.

"If anyone can get it, Amanda can," Methos assures him. "She'll complain about being asked to steal something that isn't measured in carats, but she'll get over it." He smirks into his beer. "You'll like Amanda. Just don't let her get too close to you -- and trust me you'll be tempted." He pauses. "Actually -- let her. Your credit cards won't work here, and it would drive her *insane*."

"Don't have any credit cards on me. Actually, I don't carry credit cards, ever. That's Pepper's job. Or Natalie's, now, since I gave Pepper my job. She's a good CEO." Tony makes another notation before adding the page with the gauntlet to the other he's torn off, and starting in on a quick sketch of the boots, with their repulsors for flying. "I was working in my workshop before I ended up here, anyway. Wouldn't have had credit cards on me even if I carried them."

"Pity." Methos drains his beer. "I'll just have to find my entertainment somewhere else." He starts to get up, then sits down again as Joe re-emerges from the office and deposits a slip of paper on the bar.

"Here. Don't say I never did anything for you."

"I never would," Methos promises. "May I borrow your phone?"

The sudden suspicion in Joe's eyes is really very funny. "Why? What happened to yours?"

"It met an untimely end." The look on Joe's face says very clearly that Methos will be explaining later, and in detail, but he hands over the phone and Methos retreats to the other end of the bar, already dialing.

Tony glances at Adam a moment, raising an eyebrow about the dead cell phone, before looking back at Joe. "Is he always hard on his electronics? Because if he is, I might have to rethink letting him borrow the suit for a flight or two; I'd like it back in one piece and functional."

"Only sometimes. I don't think your suit will be in any danger." Joe would really love to be able to hear what Methos is saying to Amanda; he looks very satisfied with himself. "It's kind of a situational thing, and he does his best to avoid it."

"Good. It takes a lot to take down one of these suits, but I don't want to test them against someone who keeps killing electronics." Tony starts adding the equations around the sketch of the boot, muttering about power consumption and avoiding hitting his head on the roof of the garage. 

Methos returns, looking smug, and hands Joe his phone back. "She'll be flying out of Ankara tonight." Tilting his head to look over Tony's shoulder, he lifts one eyebrow in silently impressed commentary before continuing. "In the mean time, I think I'm going to go home and get changed. Tony? Feel like getting into some clean clothes, maybe eating something?" He's seen Tony's type before, and is willing to bet that the man would -- and has -- gone for days without sleep or food while in the middle of chasing down an idea.

"Mmm?" Tony looks up a moment, and shrugs. "Food would probably be good. I had a shake earlier, before the repulsor blew up in my face. Not that anyone else I know seems to think that's food. It keeps me going, and it tastes good." He'll have to get the ingredients for his shakes, and make some so he doesn't have to be interrupted while he's working. Except maybe for coffee, or whiskey. Or both.

"I think we can probably do better than a shake." Methos wrinkles his nose. "Joe, we'll bring Amanda to see you."

"You'd better. Nice to meet you, Tony." Joe looks pointedly at Methos. "You. Phone call. Tonight."

"If you insist. Come on, Tony. There's beer and paper at the flat, and I feel like six hours in the car."

Tony grabs the papers with his sketches, following Adam back out to the car. He isn't sure what he's going to consider better than a shake, though he's one more person who doesn't see Tony's favorite power-snack as food. More for him, then. "I don't like beer. Whiskey, martinis, sometimes champagne. Beer's a little too sports-bar for me."

"Sports-bar?" Methos repeats indignantly. "I'll have you know that beer has a long and noble history. They used to offer it to the gods in Egypt and Babylon, and armies used to depend on it almost as much as they did on food." Unlocking the car, he shrugs. "Oh, well. More for me. You can drink MacLeod's Laphroaig."

"Islay's aren't my favorite scotch, actually." But they're good enough, and he hasn't had a drink all day before they arrived here, so perhaps it won't be much of a problem to have a glass or two. Tony reaches for the passenger door, climbing in with a small grimace. "And doesn't matter what history a drink has, if the most common and popular variations are tasteless trash mass-marketed to everyone who can't afford quality."

"Oh, I don't drink American beer," Methos assures him. To his relief, the car turns on easily. "They stopped making my favourite a long time ago, but some of the new microbrews come surprisingly close to the original."

Tony shrugs. He still doesn't like beer, and has no intention of trying it, but he's not going to argue with Adam's preference for drink. Even if he does have an odd set of knowledge - there was the reference to Napoleon when he'd met him on the road, then the mention of a vomitorium story, and now the history of beer. Either a student of history as a whole, or something else weird, and Tony's not sure he cares which.

"You have any clothes at your apartment that I can borrow?" He really should get some new ones of his own, but it's not like he's going to have to be at a board meeting or anything, so he doesn't need something particularly fancy. Just something that fits and doesn't have holes in it. And not anything that should have been left in the eighties.

"Mi casa es su casa," Methos assures him. Luckily, his flat is (deliberately) only a few minutes from Joe's, and he's soon parking the car around the back of the building. 

The flat itself is a second-floor walk-up, with a spare bedroom and -- most importantly -- a back porch complete with alternate way out. The furnishings are the usual mix of antiques and the do-it-yourself stuff from IKEA, and the rooms are open enough to swing a sword in.

"Here we go." Methos pushes open the door. "The bedroom's back that way -- help yourself to whatever fits. I'm going to start supper."

It's been a while since Tony had a meal that he hasn't run through a blender, or paid someone else to make, so the idea of a home-cooked meal is almost appealing. He heads for the mentioned bedroom, rooting around until he finds a pair of jeans that suit, and a t-shirt that isn't light enough for the arc reactor to be blindingly obvious through. Contemplates a long-sleeved shirt to go under the t-shirt before he shrugs and changes his clothes. It's not like he's planning to go anywhere, and Adam already knows about the arc reactor anyway.

He leaves the grease-stained clothes in a corner next to a hamper, and goes back into the main room, grabbing his papers, and hunting around for more paper, and a pencil. "You wouldn't happen to have a place that has enough room for a real workshop, would you? Nice large space where I can install servers and other equipment, and build the suits, and some other stuff I'm going to need."

Methos looks up from his contemplation of the contents of the refrigerator, thinking. 

"Would an abandoned church work? It has power and water, and the sanctuary's fairly large." It's also on the edge of the industrial district, so loud noises shouldn't attract too much attention.

"Might. I won't know for certain until I see the space." And once he knows the space is large enough, if it's large enough, he can start in on doing what he needs to build. And not just the software and the hardware, but sometimes altering the physical structure. So long as he doesn't take out any vital support structures, that is. It wouldn't be the first time he did something like that with a building, though usually the building he's modifying is his own house. "You have pencils around here somewhere?"

"Pens and pencils are in the desk." Methos gestures vaguely in that general direction. "Don't touch the gun in the top drawer. It's loaded, and the safety's off." Turning back to the refrigerator, he frowns. "What's your opinion on stew?"

"Why's the safety off?" Tony finds the pencils, and settles down behind the desk with his feet propped up on top of it as he works. "I prefer to be able to identify what's in my food, but so long as it's edible, I'll eat it," he continues in answer to the question.

"I promise not to put anything in it you would consider unusual," Methos assures him, pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. "And the safety's off because -- ironically -- it's safer that way." He pauses, and gives Tony a considering look. If the man is going to be living here temporarily, he needs to know at least a little bit of what he could be getting himself into. "I have...enemies. If I tell you to get out, don't wait around to ask questions -- just get to Joe's. Some of them don't worry very much about collateral damage."

Tony snorts, looking up from the pad of paper he's turning into schematics. "Sounds like you have your own crazy bastard from Siberia." He's glad Ivan's dead most of the time, though occasionally there's a moment of regret he couldn't have worked with him. Except that Ivan had wanted him dead, and Tony's really fond of being alive. "You have an alarm system on this place that gives you a heads-up, or is the first sign of trouble going to be someone breaking the front door?"

"I'll take your mad Russian scientist if you'll take my angry Bronze Age witch," Methos mutters. More loudly, he adds, "I should have a few minutes' warning, and no one who shows up will be after you anyway. Besides, I'm not expecting trouble. These are precautionary measures. Just don't play with any of the weapons, and don't try to hang around if I tell you to run and you'll be fine."

"Right." Tony isn't the sort to run away from danger, especially not after the mess in Afghanistan, and that Adam has enemies that don't play nice with others just makes building the suit a little more important than building and programming an AI, or the tools to get him home. After all, a suit will mean he doesn't have to run away like a scared boy if someone shows up after Adam.

"I mean it." Methos catches Tony's gaze and holds it. "It's not your fight, and you'd be very badly overmatched." He doesn't have anything like as nagging a conscience as MacLeod, but he would hate to see someone with Tony's mind end up as a casualty in one more pointless Immortal fight.

"For now." Tony meets his gaze easily, no apology or fear in his expression. "No promises once the suit's built. I can pretty much promise nothing's getting me in there. I killed a fighter jet when it hit me once." Sheered off the wing, and then went and saved the pilot before flying home. It had dented the suit, and made it a pain to get out of, but it hadn't done worse to him than dent his ego.

Methos chops up a few carrots with a little more force than is strictly necessary. 

"You can't interfere. It's...complicated. Besides, your suit's electronic, isn't it?" He doesn't even want to think about the damage that the combination of a Quickening and a suit capable of taking out a jet might cause. Tossing the carrots into the pot, he sighs. "I'm not being mysterious on purpose -- it's just that it's -- if anything -- even harder to believe than your dimension-hopping bit." At some point, he's decided it really doesn't matter if Tony knows about Immortals, and will in fact make things easier. After all, the man isn't from here, and he won't be staying here, either.

"Try me." Tony doesn't stop drawing out... well, he's no longer working on the suit, but the schematics for how to set up enough servers for Jarvis are just as useful. "And what do the electronics in the suit have to do with you having enemies that aren't going to care if they kill me in the process?"

"Just remember I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Methos tells him wryly. "I'm Immortal. So are my enemies, and if one of us dies near your suit, it'll likely fry every circuit in the thing, and set off whatever weapons are built into it." He fishes his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and tosses it onto the table next to Tony. "Take a look. It's as dead as the proverbial doornail, and part of it's melted."

Tony set the papers aside a moment to pick up the phone. It looks almost as if it's been hit by lightning, if a little less slagged than he'd expect for that. "I do have the electronics shielded, in case I end up having to fly through a thunderstorm." It's not protection against everything, and he's not sure how these Immortals fry electronics, other than it's clear at least some of it is because they literally fry them. "None of them are proof against an EMP, though, if whatever happens when an immortal dies is more like that."

He's not sure what to make of the claim Adam's made to immortality, though he'll give the man the same benefit of the doubt he gave Tony, and accept it as the truth for now. He'll have other questions later, maybe, but right now, it doesn't much matter. Because it doesn't change that he's still going to make the suit, and everything he needs to get home, and that without more data, he's not going to run away once he has the suit built.

"I'd say it's probably more like a combination of the two," Methos says after a moment's consideration. "I know we've blacked out major metropolitan areas on more than one occasion." He lifts an eyebrow. "I don't think I need to tell you that the whole Immortality thing isn't public knowledge? Joe knows, but he's an exception to the rule."

"I'm not likely to go blurting it out in a press conference, I promise." Tony gave Adam a brief, self-depricating smile for a moment before shrugging. "I can keep a secret, even when sometimes I probably shouldn't. The whole announcing I was Iron Man to the press was a fluke, a one off." Probably brought on by the stresses of the three months in Afghanistan, and then finding out one of his few friends wasn't really a friend, and nearly dying more than once. Really, they never should have let him go out in front of a crowd of reporters after all that.

"This whole Iron Man thing -- I assume it has something to do with the suit?" Methos stops working on the stew and looks at Tony narrow-eyed. "This isn't some sort of superhero thing, is it? I already have one idiot with no sense of self-preservation to keep alive. Don't tell me I'm going to have to worry about you charging off to rescue innocents in distress?" Sighing, he goes back to the potatoes. "I don't suppose you could invent some sort of device that repels do-gooders? For the sake of my sanity, and continued survival?" He's almost entirely joking.

"Yeah, it does. Mostly. The name was the press, the suit was me." Tony meets Adam's glare with an innocent look that he knows he can pull off with almost anyone. Pepper never buys it, but she knows him too well for it to work, anyway. "I'm not the one who called me a superhero, anyway. I'm just in it for the fun, really."

And the destruction of any stash of Stark Industries weapons that were still in the hands of just about anyone, and yeah, protecting innocent civilians from terrorists, and sometimes he'd take the suit down through one city or another to help the local cops find out who had the nasty weapons cache they needed to take out. It wasn't like the gangs had bunker-busters to take out his suit.

"And no, you don't need to worry about me going out to save every little innocent in distress. I'm more into the big picture. You know, privitizing world peace and all that. And I do have a sense of self-preservation. It's just not very big compared to the sense of self-indulgence."

"The gods preserve me from overgrown boy scouts," Methos says in (mostly) mock despair. "I'd like to request that you don't go mucking about in international politics while you're here. For the sake of my nerves, if nothing else. I'd like to enjoy some peace and quiet in my old age."

"And world peace wouldn't involve peace and quiet?" Tony raises an eyebrow, an amused smile creeping across his face. "How old are you, anyway?" If Adam's immortal, Tony isn't quite sure he can imagine how old he is. At least a couple millennia, if the whole mention of a vomitorium story had been even vaguely true.

He's not going to make any promises not to meddle, but he doubts he'll have the spare time to go screwing around with politics that he's not actually even vaguely familiar with. Tony likes to know who he's going after, and so long as no one actually points him in any particular direction, he'll be content to build what he needs to get home, and maybe some presents for people who help him out with that project.

"Somewhere on the far side of five thousand. I stopped keeping track a while ago. Still, since I am so very old and wise, take it from me -- you can't enforce peace. The Romans did as good a job as anyone, and they were constantly at war. There's a word for people who want to order the world to suit themselves, no matter how benign their motives, and they never manage to build anything that lasts, even from a mortal perspective."

Tony shrugs. "I can only try to leave behind a world that's better. Peace would be nice. It's not that no one's fighting, I can't stop that all on my own, but people are talking. That's better than not talking." And he can draw fire from those who would otherwise be causing trouble for people who are less able to survive what's thrown at them.

"That I'll agree with." Methos adds the last of the spices to the stew, and puts the lid on the pot before putting the bread in the oven to reheat. "Why, though? Why go from manufacturing weapons to flying around doing your level best to save the world?" He can understand getting tired of death, but the impulse to fix things is something he doesn't get, maybe because the world has always stayed basically the same no matter what anyone does to change it.

"Why not?" Tony starts on another schematic, not actually willing to talk about what had happened in that cave, what had changed him and started him down the path that made him Iron Man. "I might not be able to win the fight, but that doesn't mean it's not worth fighting."

"And if it absorbs energy that could have better been spent elsewhere, on things that can be changed?" Grabbing a beer out of the fridge, Methos hops up on the counter. "Why don't you work on eliminating world hunger, or making sure everyone has clean water? You'd put an end to a lot of fighting that way, and probably do more good in the long run. Not that I'm one to talk, of course." The whiskey is in the cabinet next to his head, so he fishes it out, along with a tumbler, and leans forward to put them on the table. "My main contributions to the world consist of a few references in some religious texts and a bomb that might end up destroying the whole bloody thing someday, so I'm essentially throwing stones from a glass house."

"Already have developed crops that could end world hunger if more people used them. Stark Industries did, anyway. Created a power source that won't pollute the air and the water, could reduce the need for dams for electricity production. I still can't force people to buy them, or use them." Tony looks up from his sketching, watching Adam a moment. "Where are you referenced in religious texts?"

"Revelations. And a few obscure writings from religions that didn't survive the rise of Christianity." Methos hops off the counter to lift the lid on the stew. "That shouldn't take too much longer. Want some bread in the meantime?"

"Huh." Tony looks at Adam curiously a moment before he shrugs. "Sure. What got you in revelations?" He's trying to think if he's read it, and who are all the characters in it. After a moment, he sets the pad down, leaving the schematics and equations alone for now in favor of food. And figuring out more about Adam.

"Killing people." Methos pulls the bread out of the oven and the butter out of the microwave. "A lot of people. I was Death about two thousand years before Oppenheimer had his little attack of conscience." He slices the bread and places it on a plate on the table, along with two more, the butter, and a knife.

Making a name killing people is something Tony knows about, though he's glad to be out of that business. He watches Adam briefly before reaching for the bread, ignoring the butter as he munches on the slice. "Fun." He's not sure about that, but it's about all he can say right now.

"For the first eight hundred years or so, yes." Methos pulls out one of the chairs and drops into it before claiming a piece of bread for himself, along with the butter, which he spreads on lavishly. One of the joys of Immortality, at least in this day and age, is that there's no need to worry about cholesterol or calories. "After a while, I got tired of the whole thing -- and of the company, so I gave it up."

"Good for you." Tony picks up another slice of bread, munching happily. The smell of the stew is making him hungry, reminding him that he really hasn't eaten - other than his shakes - since sometime yesterday. He thinks.

Methos lifts a sardonic eyebrow and takes another bite of bread. "It was a long time ago," he says after a moment. "In a very different world. Now I teach history and do my best to avoid getting into fights. Where you lot are concerned, at least, that's easier than it used to be." Popping the last of his bread into his mouth, he gets up and grabs bowls and spoons out of their respective locations. "Stew's ready. Help yourself."

Tony takes one of the bowls, filling it, sniffing appreciatively at the stew a moment before sitting back at the table, digging in. It's not often he actually pays attention to what he's eating, though he wouldn't say that's part of why he drinks the shakes that usually keep him going, even if others might assume so. "This is good. I should get the recipe. I don't cook often, though. Don't know if I'd get a chance to cook this."

"Thank you. It's not difficult. I could write down the recipe for you, if you like, though it wouldn't be exact. I tend to make things a little differently every time. It's one way to keep them from getting dull. You wouldn't believe how many times I've eaten stew of one kind or another."

"Often enough to get sick of it?" Tony hazards a guess, glancing over at Adam a moment before turning his attention back to eating the stew. He'll probably forget that there's food at all once he gets into the zone, working on the AI and the suit, and everything else. Enjoying it while he's focused on it is a good idea.

"For centuries at a time," Methos confirms. "And you wouldn't believe some of the things that were in those stews." He makes a face, and takes a sip of beer. "Would you like something else to drink, or will the whiskey do? I think I have milk, and possibly juice of some kind, though I wouldn't necessarily place any bets on its still being drinkable."

"Whiskey's good, goes better with this than a martini would." Tony grins, going to refill his bowl. That alcohol or caffeine factor into almost everything he drinks, he doesn't mention, since he figures it's irrelavent. At least, at the moment. Might be important later, when he runs out of something to drink while he's working. Coffee, whiskey, maybe whiskey in his coffee.

"Good enough. There's plenty left if you want more," he adds. "Amanda should be here sometime in the very early morning, and knowing her, she won't bother to go to a hotel when she thinks she can come here and wake me up in the middle of the night."

"Can't wake someone up who hasn't gone to sleep." Tony has too much on his mind to actually go to sleep, too much to get done. He'll sleep when he can't push his body or mind any further, no matter how much coffee he drinks. He grabs another piece of bread, dipping it into the stew, and biting off the soaked end. "Unless you mind me taking over the table all night. Writing this all out the long way is going to take time, but it keeps me busy until I have the servers to write Jarvis into."

"Help yourself. I'm going to try and get a few hours of sleep, but I'll wake up when Amanda gets here, so you don't have to worry about answering the door or anything like that. Make yourself at home. Just stay out of my journals -- you won't be able to read them any way -- and be careful with any weapons you come across. They're all either loaded or sharp." He uses the last bit of his bread to mop up the last bit of his stew. "If you do decide to sleep, the guest bedroom's over there." Methos gestures with the bread before popping it into his mouth. "Just turn the stove off before you go to bed."

Tony nods absently, pulling his pad back over, though he knows he should actually pay attention to his stew instead of letting his mind get drawn back into the numbers and equations that would be Jarvis and the suit. And a holographic projection system, that would be useful to help him with visualizing everything he needs to make the return trip possible. "Yeah. Stove off, got it."

Methos smiles, shaking his head, and finishes off the rest of his beer before heading off to get ready for bed.

* * *

The equations are all but dancing on the page, paper spread out over the table in what looks almost haphazard to a casual glance, though Tony can follow what he's been writing on them, meandering from one page to another. Bits of the suit, of Jarvis, of the holographic projection system he wants to build. An accelerator to help him create the element that powers his arc reactor, if he has to stay here for any real length of time. The design for the palladium-cored arc reactor. All bits and pieces, numbers and lines on paper that he wants to be able to manipulate with the ease he does at home.

Reaching blindly for his glass of whiskey, Tony gulps down the contents, before reaching out to add another set of numbers to one of the equations, correcting a mistake he'd made earlier. He really wants Jarvis, someone he trusts to double-check his math, even though he's certain it's correct. Where he's looked over it a second time, anyway.

He looks up at the sound of a door opening, blinking at Adam a moment. "What time is it?"

"Four-fifteen in the bloody morning," Methos says bitterly. Hefting his sword onto his shoulder, he goes to the door, waiting until he hears footsteps in the hall to jerk it open. It is, as expected, Amanda, and he puts the blade back on his shoulder.

"You could have gotten a hotel," he tells her rudely.

"And missed whatever has you calling in a favour? Oh, no, Methos darling. If it's important enough that you need me to leave Ankara on a moment's notice, then it's important enough for me to come straight here, isn't it?" Pushing past him, she shoves her bag into his arms. He watches ruefully as she spots Tony and her eyes light up. "A present? Ooh, Methos, you shouldn't have. He's *scrumptious*."

Tony blinks at the sword Adam's carrying, before carefully standing, going to refill his glass from the nearly empty bottle of scotch. He wonders if this Amanda is like the enemies Adam had mentioned last night, and possibly like Adam. If immortals have some sort of radar that lets them know when others are around. It's something really cool, but nothing he hasn't already done at least a little about. He can pretty much figure out what everything around him is when he's in the suit. Mostly.

The woman who comes in, though, is gorgeous, and Tony lets a grin spread across his face, looking her up and down a moment before he starts over toward her. "You must be the mysterious Amanda." He reaches out to take her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it in a moment of old-fashioned gallantry. He's a bit surprised by the name she's called Adam, but he knows he really shouldn't be. It would be more a surprise, really, if Adam - or Methos, or whatever his name is - hadn't changed his name at some point in the past. Probably more than once.

"Can I keep him?" Amanda asks, eyes sparkling.

"No. And you can carry your own bloody bags. I'm not the damned Highlander." Methos suits actions to words by depositing her luggage abruptly on the floor. 

"Aren't we cranky today?" Amanda asks archly. To Tony, she stage-whispers, "Don't mind him. Old people get like this when they don't get enough sleep."

"So I've heard." Tony's grin widens a moment before he shrugs. "I shouldn't antagonize him too much, he is going to be paying for everything I've been redoing the schematics for all night." He's also reminding himself that he's dating Pepper, a mental mantra that he keeps repeating at the back of his mind. Though she's a universe away, and probably would never know if he didn't exactly keep his hands to himself.

"Something I hear you have skills to help along," he adds with a charming smile. Even if Pepper were here, it can't hurt to flirt with Amanda, when he needs her to get something that apprently won't appeal to her as much as things more valuable as decoration.

"Darling, I don't pay for things."

"Except with other people's credit cards," Methos remarks, not quite under his breath. Amanda shrugs it off.

"Mostly Duncan's, and only because he needs shaking up once in a while. Anyway, what did you need me to steal, and how shiny is it?"

"Palladium. Quite a bit of it, actually." Tony takes a step back over to the table, fishing out one of the sheets of paper, with the core of the reactor drawn on it, and numbers running down one margin. "I'm making three of these cores, I need palladium to make them." He gives Amanda another one of his more charming smiles, knowing there isn't much of what she probably means by shiny in what he's asking her to acquire. "It's similar to platinum, very shiny, very expensive, though not much use in jewelry."

"That's not much fun." Amanda wrinkles her nose. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have the Mona Lisa instead? Or maybe the Hope Diamond?"

Methos goes to the fridge and grabs a beer. It's going to be a long night

"I could buy them, at home, but not really interested. Not my kind of art." Tony shrugs, leaning against the counter, watching her with a suggestive smirk on his face a moment. "I prefer fast cars and gorgeous women. And I have to say, you are one of the most gorgeous women I've met." Not the most gorgeous, but he reserves that appellation for Pepper, in part because he likes not getting slapped. Or being told that she's going on a business trip, after she's in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2010/2011. Unedited.


End file.
